Such Good Luck
by Ricole
Summary: Five possible ways for Mary to get her good luck charm back.
1. The Coming Storm

This is really a set of 5 separate scenes, each existing in a different possible future. They are presented "chronologically," by which I mean that each one considers a potential scenario for Mary getting her good luck charm back at a certain point in her life, and these points will move progressively further from the end of season 2. They vary in terms of sweetness and sadness.

Hope you enjoy.

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><p>1. The Coming Storm<p>

Mary can sense the storm clouds gathering in the distance. The air feels different around her, charged and silent, waiting for a signal from above. It presses on her skull and surrounds her thoughts. It is getting worse.

"Mary?" A gentle voice reaches her ears, breaking the spell. She is surprised to realize that the sun is shining and the sky is clear.

"Hello, Matthew," she replies, trying out a smile, which he matches with a tentative one of his own.

"I thought I might find you here," he says, and gestures at the spot next to her on the bench. "May I join you?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

Matthew takes this to mean _yes _and sits down. He is looking straight ahead, but his body is angled slightly toward hers. "I only had one appointment this afternoon, and I...thought it would be best if I came back early."

"You've seen it, then," she nods, looking at her lap. She fidgets with her necklace.

"Mary," he starts, then pauses, considering the best way to proceed. He tries again. "Mary, we knew this might happen, especially after we announced—when we made it official."

"Oh yes, I'm hardly surprised. Still, knowing something _could_ happen, as opposed to actually seeing it in black and white, right in one's hands, is not quite...it's still a shock."

"I hope you aren't regretting taking my advice to stay and brave it." He looks at her now, and she looks at him, and the uncertainty in his face surprises her. "With me," he adds, and his voice cracks slightly.

"Oh, Matthew, of course not. You mustn't think that, no matter what happens in the coming weeks," she says quickly. He looks so relieved that she falls a little more in love with him, if that is even possible. "It's just that I'm so...sorry...about it all. About what it's going to mean for everyone, how the family will suffer, all of it."

"I have something for you," he says, and he is smiling again. "I thought it might help." He reaches into his coat pocket and produces her little toy dog, her good luck charm, and places it carefully in her lap. "You did say you wanted it returned to you."

Mary closes one hand around the toy and rewards him with her most genuine smile, the one bestowed upon her from infancy, not learned through years of careful training. "After getting you through a war, I suppose he thinks a newspaper scandal will be decidedly less taxing on his good luck reserves. Unless you suppose we have already used up all his luck?"

"No, he still feels rather lucky to me." Matthew places a hand on top of hers, so they are holding the dog together.

"Thank you," she says, and they both know she is thinking of more than the return of her good luck charm.

She kisses him, and the air around her feels charged once again, but it is no longer menacing.


	2. The Solicitor's Wife

2. The Solicitor's Wife

She is early, and Matthew's last client for the morning is still in his office, so she waits. She has managed to convince the assistant that she need not be announced (she can be quite persuasive, really, and she thinks Granny would be proud); he has gone to luncheon, and she is alone. The door to the office is slightly open, and the conversation slips out to her ears. She supposes it's improper for her to listen, but they appear to be mostly done now, exchanging some idle comments while Matthew finishes doing... something.

She really ought to learn more about what he does all day.

"Are you a dog enthusiast, Mr. Crawley?" the client asks.

"Hmm?" Matthew sounds distracted, like he does when she interrupts him while he's reading. "I like dogs well enough, but I don't have one of my own, if that's what you mean," he says politely.

"I just noticed you have a little toy dog on your desk," the client replies, and her eyes widen in surprise. She knows what it must be that has caught the man's eye, though she hadn't known it had ended up here.

Matthew confirms her suspicions. "Oh, that. My wife gave it to me. As a—a good luck charm, of sorts." Mary feels a slight thrill at hearing the phrase _my wife _used so casually, referring to her_._ It is the first time she's noticed it since their honeymoon; they don't have much use for such descriptors at home, where everyone is perfectly aware of their relationship to each other.

"Does one normally need a great deal of luck to be successful as a solicitor?" the client jokes. "Should I be worried?"

"Sometimes, perhaps—" Matthew starts, and she catches the subtle cues in his inflection, realizes that he has paused to consider if he should disclose the full story behind the seemingly odd token he keeps of her. He must have decided against it: "—but in your case, Mr. Barnes, I don't believe we'll need any luck at all. Everything appears to be in order."

Then the men are standing and exchanging pleasantries and she hears footsteps and at last, this Mr. Barnes emerges from the office. He is startled to see her standing there, but recovers well. "Hello," he says, and nods as he passes her.

Mary knocks on the open office door and steps through the doorway. "So this is where you needlessly slave away all day," she says conversationally as she crosses the room to stand in front of his desk. She has accepted his desire to work, and he has accepted her desire to tease him about it: that's just how they are together, as she describes it.

His face brightens when he sees her, and she smiles in return. "Hello, darling," he greets her, coming around the desk to give her a kiss. "I'm glad to see you...and the food you've brought. I'm rather hungry."

She arches an eyebrow at him in mock annoyance. "What makes you so sure I've brought food?" she asks coolly, indicating the basket resting in the crook of her right arm.

"Well, you told me you were bringing me luncheon today, with the promise of your company, as well. As I have found you to be a woman of your word, and because I trust you completely, I have no choice but to assume that you did indeed bring food."

"Good answer," she grants him, "and you are correct in your assumption. But before we eat, I wanted to clarify something."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Were you ever planning on returning my good luck charm to me? Because I only loaned it to you, you know. I thought I made that quite clear."

"Oh," Matthew says, clearly caught off guard. He reaches for the toy and offers it to her. "Of course, you may have it back if you wish. I only liked having it here because it reminds me of you," he tells her earnestly, all teasing gone.

She takes the toy in her left hand and tilts her head to the side, pretending to consider. "Well, now you have kept your word, and he is mine once again to do with as I please, and I think I shall put him... here." With a small flourish of her hand, she places the little dog back on the desk. "If you are going to be reminded of anything while you work, I suppose I'd like it to be me."

"Mary," he tells her quite honestly, "there's little chance of it being anything else."

"And I am glad to hear you say it. Still, I believe I will leave him here, just to be certain."

"Well then, my dear, with that settled, shall we go enjoy our picnic on this lovely day?"

He offers her his arm, and as they step outside into the midday sunlight, she decides that it matters very little where her good luck charm sits. She feels rather lucky anyway.


	3. Transition

A/N: I'm glad to see there are others out there who are intrigued by the potential fate of a toy dog. And thank you to all who have left kind reviews and thoughtful comments; in the words of Mrs. Hughes, feedback is "very highly valued" by this author.

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><p>3. Transition<p>

Mary has known for quite some time that Matthew will make an excellent earl. In a few quiet moments, she has even wondered if he will be better as an earl than she will be as a countess (though it wouldn't be by much, of course). There is a younger version of herself, lingering in a shadowy back corner of her mind, that is absolutely appalled at such thoughts. That younger Mary was much more snobbish and much less in love with Matthew Crawley than the current incarnation.

Current Mary is fairly certain that's not a coincidence.

It's funny, she thinks, surveying the boxes surrounding her in the dressing room, in that way things are funny when they are not funny at all. Before, when she considered their future, it was with pride and confidence—they would move into the big house, and Matthew would be a brilliant earl, and she would be his brilliant countess, and they would raise their children in her childhood home, and Downton would flourish. This is what she has been groomed for, prepared for, and she once thought she knew what it meant. It is doubly upsetting, then, to realize that she appears to have spent much of her life understanding what would happen without_ actually_ understanding what would happen.

Even Crawley House seems so dear to her now, despite how small and plain it had felt upon her arrival as a bride. It will always be the place they had started their life together: their bedroom, where they had learned so many _fascinating _things about each other; the room across the hall, which had been their nursery; the study, where they had talked and argued and laughed, for hours and hours, giddy from the simple joy that no one could ever again tell them it was improper to spend so much time alone together. They had been happy here.

What will happen, now that they must leave, now that they will spend each day as Earl and Countess of Grantham? What will it be like, inhabiting a future in which Robert Crawley is not available for support and advice?

Why does it feel as if she is burying so much more than her father? (Isn't that loss great enough on its own?)

She is off-balance, misaligned, her equilibrium gone. One sad event has set off a cascade of changes all at once, and now everything is slipping past her and she just wants it to _stop _for awhile, or at least slow down so she can think properly. Or maybe so she can stop thinking altogether.

Just for awhile.

She can't even recall why she is in this room. She is looking for something that has already been packed—that must be it—why else would she be here? If only she could remember what it is or why she needs it...she must focus. Her eyes rove around the room, hoping for inspiration, when she sees it: sitting innocuously in an open box, surrounded by stockings, it is not the ambiguous thing she came here for, but something altogether more precious. It is her good luck charm—the little stuffed dog she had given to Matthew in what seems like another life. He must have had it stashed away in a drawer this whole time. Her original purpose abandoned, she moves toward the box and picks up the old toy.

And finally, blessedly, everything around her stands still.

She remembers another time when she'd been off-balance, unsure, unsteady. The whole world had gone mad, and she'd been swept away in the current and yet stuck on the shore: incapable of escaping the insanity but powerless to do anything about it.

Yes, she decides, as she absentmindedly turns the little dog over and over in her hands,_ powerless_ is a good word to describe how she'd felt then. Unable to affect the outcome of the war, unable to protect those she cared for, unable even to fix the mess she'd made of her own life. Relegated to praying and wishing and hoping that the man she loved would come home alive, knowing that she would lose him even if he did. Resigned to a future of paying for her past.

She hears footsteps in the hallway and looks up just as Matthew enters the room. "Ah, Mary, there you are. Your mother wants—" His words hang in the air, his message apparently forgotten as he notices what she is holding in her hands. Then he begins rambling, clumsy phrases about how he was going to give it back to her or why he kept it or something of that nature, but she is not paying much attention to his words. She is captivated by his face, his eyes, the expression that is so familiar to her because she sees it when she looks in the mirror. He seems a little...lost. Off-balance, off-center, just as she is. How could she have missed it before?

But she is not powerless this time, she realizes, tightening her grip on her old good luck charm, the ghost of a smile on her lips. She couldn't help him in the trenches, but she can help him through this transition, and their world will steady itself again. This is what she has been groomed for, prepared for, and she will make her father proud.

"Matthew, you are going to be a brilliant earl," she says suddenly, cutting into whatever he is still saying about promises and mementos and who knows what else.

"So you see, I...uh, what?" It takes him a few seconds to catch up, and not being privy to her thoughts, he is understandably confused by her interruption.

"You are going to be splendid at this, I know it. I've known it for quite some time, really. Since before the war, if you can believe it." He still looks a bit baffled, so she continues, "I was just thinking that I've never properly told you. So now I have."

"Um...thank you," he says, and she can tell it is heartfelt, despite his surprise at the turn in the conversation. "And...uh, you are going to be splendid, too," he adds.

Mary raises her eyebrows and lifts her chin. "Of course I am," she replies in her haughtiest voice, the one she hasn't used with him in years.

He gives a short laugh and shakes his head good-naturedly, having recognized her response for what it truly is. She smiles at him, a full-fledged smile now, and something intangible snaps back into place.

Balancing is getting easier again.


	4. Another Soldier

4. Another Soldier

Matthew had predicted this moment from the first days of the war.

"We still have a few years," Mary had suggested, rather desperately. "Perhaps it will be over soon enough."

"Perhaps."

She knew he didn't believe it.

Their son's recent birthday had been just like any other day, except that it wasn't like any other day at all: he was a man now—the army declared it so—and he was old enough to fight for his country, even though he had been too young just one day prior. How could one day make such a difference? But now here they were, preparing to send him off to a war that was most decidedly not over yet.

Mary has promised herself she won't cry, but she is blinking rapidly as she hugs him good-bye.

"We have something for you to take," Matthew says, and Mary looks at her husband in surprise. She has no clue what he means. Then he is placing a small toy dog in their son's outstretched hand, and her mind is flooded with images from the past: she is saying good-bye to a different solider in a different time, and she is unspeakably sorry she didn't take the chance to be with him when she had it, and she has still promised herself that she won't cry, but it is so very difficult—

"A...stuffed dog? You want me to take a toy dog with me?" She is brought to the present again, where their son clearly believes the army when it says he is a man now, and apparently also believes that men do not take toys with them to war.

"Your mother gave it to me before I went back to the front once," Matthew explains, "for luck. It was her lucky charm. I think you should take it. Perhaps it will be lucky for you, too. And it will remind you of home, which...helps," he finishes, haltingly. "Trust me."

Fear flickers across their young soldier's face for the first time, and while the army might see a man, all Mary can see is her little boy.

"And since your papa never returned it to me like I asked him to, now you must promise to bring it back. Without a scratch," she adds, and she is in two different decades at once, but the fear feels exactly the same in each.

...

She is selfishly glad that he didn't have a sweetheart before he left, because it means that he writes to his parents more often. His letters are terse, devoid of any real insight, sticking to topics like the food (it is terrible), or the weather (often terrible), or the people he meets (not usually terrible). His fellow soldiers like his good luck charm, he says, and like the story behind it even more. They hope it will protect them by extension.

He always says he is fine.

"What would you suppose that means, Matthew, when he only ever says he is 'fine'?" She is afraid that she knows exactly what it means.

"He is...mostly unhurt...physically," is the careful reply from her husband, who looks haunted more often than not these days, especially when he reads the papers.

"That's what I feared," she sighs, and he takes her hand in his.

The letters are always signed, "Love from your son and your silly tiny dog." It's the only true sign she sees of her boy's trademark humor and levity, and she clings to it.

...

When he comes home for good, he has a scar on his right cheek, a broken finger that didn't quite heal properly, and an air of maturity that makes him look every bit the man the army said he was. Somewhere behind her overwhelming relief, she is simultaneously proud and disappointed. And then—

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar stuffed toy. "Look who's back to stay, Mama," he says, with a grin she remembers seeing on a little boy's face, "it's your son and your silly tiny dog."


	5. One Last Journey

A/N: Well here we are, the fifth and final scene. Thanks again to all of you who have shared your thoughts; you have made my first foray into the Downton Abbey fandom very pleasant, and I am grateful.

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><p>5. One Last Journey<p>

Matthew accepts the diagnosis much more gracefully than Mary does.

It's all right, he says. It is the natural order of things. I'm ready to take that last journey when the time comes.

But _I'm_ not ready, she thinks. I'm not sure I remember how to do this without you.

He makes light of it with his friends: "I'm dreadfully old, you know, and I've put my body through a lot. If not this, it would be something else. I'm honestly surprised I've escaped this long!"

He comforts his family: "I've had a long life, a full life, and all of you have made sure it was a happy one. There is no great injustice here. Do not grieve for me too long."

He gives her a small box tied with a ribbon.

"I remembered that I still had one promise left to fulfill," he explains, looking at her expectantly, his expression playful.

She draws in a sharp breath when she sees what's inside. Overwhelmed with memories, she is rendered speechless for once, her eyes locked on the little toy dog.

Her mind might be older these days, but it is still quick, and it begins making connections without her consent. Here they are again, it reminds her, just as they had been when she had kissed his cheek and sent him back to battle with her good luck charm and her heart in his hands. She is facing a future without him, Death is an unwelcome guest on their doorstep, and precious time is running out. (Is that a train whistle she hears? No—there must be more time, she needs more time, just a few more moments, _please—_)

But unlike before, she knows there can be no reprieve; she is going to lose him.

"You made me promise to bring it back to you," he says, cutting through her thoughts, "and now I have at last, though I'm afraid he did get a few scratches along the way. So our roles are reversed, darling, and you must take care of him for me until we meet again."

She lifts her eyes to his and finds such love and assurance that she smiles in spite of everything.

She thinks of all they've done and shared and _lived_ together since the last time she'd seen her old lucky charm, and she smiles because of everything.

...

At the end, Mary is holding the little dog while she sits at his side. The children are there, and the grandchildren. As he wanted it, they say. The natural order of things.

She leans close to give him her blessing, to let him know that he can leave her and go on ahead if he must. She kisses his cheek one last time, clutching the toy against her chest as if it can somehow fill the aching hole already growing there.

"Good-bye, dearest Matthew," she whispers, "and _such_ good luck."


End file.
